The Fight
by Ice Queen1
Summary: "I wouldn't have pulled my gun on you if you would just learn to apologize." The Fight that started couples therapy for Wes and Travis. A little bit of emotional whump for Wes. NO SLASH. One swear word I think...


Author's Note: This is short in comparison. I suppose this is sort of a companion piece to the last one I posted for Common Law, called "Catalyst." Same rules – no slash. No shipping, no reading into something that isn't there. Hell, this isn't even a bromance. This is "The Fight".

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It had been a long day. A very, very long day. Tracking down leads, interviewing everyone and their mother (sometimes literally), and stopping Travis from doing something stupid that could cost them their badges.

Right now, they were sitting at a picnic table, getting much needed food and still managing to keep an eye open for their suspect. Fortunately, the weather was nice – it was spring, seven months after Wes's shooting, and seven months after Alex left. She'd offered to pack her stuff out of the house, but when Wes finally returned home, and cautiously stood just inside the threshold, he realized he didn't want any of it. Out of their entire house, he only took his clothes. Nothing else mattered, and he didn't want a constant reminder of what he'd lost.

So now he lived in a hotel, and out of a suitcase, which is what started the current bout of arguing with Travis.

Travis meant well, he really did. But he and Wes had two very different views of how much they needed to share. Travis never shut up, and Wes felt like anything outside of the office was no one's business but his own. And Travis just couldn't leave it alone.

"I don't get it, man. Why do you live in that ratty hotel? It's not like you can't afford a decent condo, or an apartment, or if you really wanted to mow some grass you could probably find a house for yourself," Travis said, stuffing another chili cheese fry in his mouth and washing it down with a slurp of coke.

"I like room service," Wes deadpanned, sipping his Evian and wrapping up what remained of his California turkey wrap. "And you live in a trailer, so I don't know what your complaint is." That wasn't true – Wes knew perfectly well why Travis couldn't understand that Wes no longer wanted a home. Didn't understand that as far as he was concerned, that without Alex, everywhere he lived was just as empty and meaningless as a hotel room. He didn't want to start over. He didn't want a new home, a new yard, and a new life. He wanted his old one back. But Alex made it abundantly clear that it was never going to happen as long as he was on the force. Travis, who grew up in foster home after foster home with nothing to call his own needed that stability in his adult life. Even when everything else he did had the stability of a dingy in a monsoon, Travis still had his trailer, his home, to call his own.

"It is not the room service, dude. I know it. Alex is getting worried about you, man. And frankly, so am I. What kind of grown ass man chooses to live in a hotel room instead of an apartment? Especially when you know you and Alex are never getting back together." Travis tore another chunk off his burger, and missed how Wes's hand tightened dangerously around his water bottle.

"Travis, back off," he growled.

Travis glanced up at the change in his partner's voice. He noted the suddenly harsh features and withering scowl, but to be perfectly honest, Wes looked like that most of the time nowadays. And it was beginning to piss Travis off. He knew his partner wasn't over his wife, but Wes was the one who left her. Ever since the shooting, Wes had been sullen, irritable, and withdrawn. More than usual. He no longer attended functions with the rest of the department, and had ridiculous excuses for not hanging out anymore. He didn't talk on stake outs, or in the office, except biting sarcasm to anything that Travis suggested.

"What's wrong with you?" Travis demanded, and he knew that Wes understood he wasn't just talking about right now. But everything over the last couple of months.

Wes bit his lip. He wanted so badly to tell Travis that he was the one dumped by his wife, not the other way around. That she wanted him to choose between saving lives or saving his own, and he just couldn't do it. But he never told anyone. He knew Alex and Travis were friends, and since she was the one woman his partner didn't look at and consider a potential one night stand, he let his partner believe he was the one who left Alex. He couldn't take away Travis's one female friend he'd ever had. Of course, the result was mixed – Travis believed him when he said it was his fault, but it also meant that the younger man harassed him almost constantly about "dumping the perfect woman."

"Nothing is wrong with me," Wes snapped. "Just stop talking. Or find something else to talk about at least."

Travis put his burger down and shoved it to the side. "No, you know what? I'm not going to stop talking. Not until you tell me what the hell is going on in that head of yours, Wes. Ever since the shooting, you've barely spoken to me. You never want to go anywhere or do anything unless it's related to work. You left Alex and the house and moved into a hotel halfway across town but still go back to do yard work and maintenance. You're in a bad mood more often than not, and I _know_ you didn't talk to the therapist after the shooting. So what the hell is going on?"

"None of your business," Wes said, ignoring him.

"It _is_ my business! I'm you're partner, man! And if I can't trust you to tell me what's got you so messed up, how am I supposed to trust you to have my back in the field?" Travis yelled.

Wes remained silent, resolutely staring at the light catching the plastic of the Evian bottle.

"Wes! Talk to me!" Travis demanded.

Again, Wes ignored him entirely.

"You know, I can't believe _Alex_ didn't dump _you_," Travis grumbled.

And that was it. That was what officially made Wes snap. Before he was even aware of what he was doing, he jumped over the table, tackling Travis to the ground before the younger man even knew what hit him. "Take it back!" he growled, swinging at Travis.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Travis shouted, blocking another wild punch from his partner. "Get off me!"

"Not until you apologize!" Wes yelled back.

"Have you lost your fucking mind?" Travis said, twisting in Wes's grip until he managed to throw off the smaller man, and rolled into a standing position, hands up to ward off whatever the hell his batshit crazy partner had planned next. "What the hell is the matter with you?"

Wes wasn't even paying attention anymore as he rolled to his feet in one smooth motion. He wasn't even thinking. All he saw was a red haze – red like the blood from the gun shot wound, red like the curtains in the home he was no longer welcome in, red like the intense hatred he felt for himself for not being able to tell his wife what she wanted to hear. He wasn't even thinking about pulling his gun until suddenly it was in his hands and pointed at his partner.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, what are you doing?" Travis said, holding his hands up like he was a suspect being arrested. "Wes, it's me, man. Put the gun down!"

Wes blinked in surprise. What _was_ he doing? He looked at Travis and saw the concern in his partner's face, the worry about what was obviously going on with him, and yes – a little bit of fear that Wes was so far gone his partner was going to shoot him. He abruptly straightened, putting his gun back as if it was nothing of concern, as if he hadn't just pulled it on the man he was supposed to defend with his life. One of his very, very few friends. "You should learn to apologize," he snapped, before turning abruptly on his heel and going back to the table and picking up the remnants of his lunch. As if nothing out of the ordinary happened.

_Learn to apologize because he couldn't._

As Wes marched back towards the car, Travis stared dumbly after him, wondering if his partner had lost his goddamned mind.

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Well, they said that Wes pulled a gun on Travis, and that Wes said he did it because Travis needed to learn to apologize. It was quick, I wrote it in about 20 minutes while I was at work, so forgive typos and misspellings. Let me know what you think! And still, NO SLASH for me on this fandom. I think they're friends who had a severe falling out, and are trying to get back on track – sort of.


End file.
